Reaping Ground
by Shellecah
Summary: Enforcing the peace comes naturally, much as I hate killing. And the aftermath doesn't haunt me too long when I have to kill. Folks say my noble heart makes me fearless, and keeps death at bay (laughingly). Colin Dent and I stalk the bad ones. Dent isn't bad, but shame hounds his heels and death shadows him. Dent's a dark star. —Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The man gunned down by a gray-suited stranger looked like a ranch hand or farmer, or one of the many drifters passing through Dodge at the bustle of harvest season. He wore a coating of dust, and the odors of cattle and dung wafted in his wake as he passed Chester sitting in front of the marshal's office.

 _"Hold it, Mister."_ His gun aimed at the grubby man's back, the stranger stood about ten paces behind him. _"Don't move,"_ said the stranger. _"Don't reach for your gun, or I'll shoot."_ The cowpuncher froze. Chester cautiously stood up and pressed his back against the wall.

His gun leveled at arm's length, the stranger slowly approached the cowboy. He whirled around, grabbing for his gun. The stranger shot him in the chest, and he fired a bullet through the walk as he fell facedown. Chester felt the boards shiver under his boots.

The marshal's office door opened and Matt rushed out, his gun drawn. The stranger holstered his gun and moved easily toward Matt, heedless of the marshal's gun pointed at him.

"That's far enough," said Matt. The stranger stopped. Matt stepped close to him, and the marshal's hand snaked down and snatched the stranger's gun from its holster, while Matt held his gun steady in his other hand, his eyes fixed on the stranger's sharp-featured face. The man's thin lips parted as he startled, then he smiled.

Chester jumped a little as he recollected what he must do straightaway—tell Mr. Dillon if the fallen man was dead or alive, and find some men to carry him to the undertaker's or to Doc's office.

"You move fast for a growed-up man," said the stranger, gazing from his mid-range height up at Matt. Nearly transparent against milk-white skin, the man's eyes were lighter blue than Matt's own.

"You look through your _Wanted_ circulars lately, Marshal?" the man said. "That man I shot is wanted for cattle rustling. Five hundred reward. I trailed him mixing with the drovers like he's another hand, stealing cattle from the corrals right here in Dodge. And he's not the only one. There's a gang of 'em in town."

"He's dead, Mr. Dillon," said Chester.

"I warned him not to go for his gun before I shot 'im," the stranger said.

Chester took a deep breath, and said, "The dead feller walked by me, then that there man tells 'im don't move or he'll shoot. The dead man turns fast and draws, and he shot 'im, Mr. Dillon."

"That's just what happened, Marshal," said the stranger.

"I'll get some men to take 'im to the undertaker's," said Chester.

"What's your name?" Matt said to the stranger.

"Colin Dent. I'd shake, but I don't reckon you're so inclined. It don't hardly matter," said Dent. "There's big money to make here, and I'll help you clean up this town at the same time, Marshal."

"You a bounty hunter, are you?" said Matt.

"Yes," said Dent. "Heard tell more shootings and thievin' here this year than before you come to Dodge, Marshal. Least as many, anyway. You could use a deputy or two. Your man what went to fetch the fellas to haul that carcass isn't wearing a gun or badge. Not that I'm asking for a badge, mind you. I make a heap more bounty hunting."

Matt moved to the dead man. Chester had turned the body over, and Matt looked at the face, memorizing the features to match to the stack of _Wanted_ posters on the marshal's desk. He hadn't made the time to look through the posters. Jailing men, writing reports of burglaries, robberies and shootings, testifying in court, and traveling with prisoners to the penitentiary or to Hays to the gallows had filled the days since summer's end.

"His name was Jim McCane," said Dent. He followed Matt into the office.

There were three men in the near jail cell, and two in the far cell. Except for one who lay sleeping on the bunk, the men moved to the bars and looked at Matt and the bounty hunter. Chester kept hot coffee freshly made on the stove when Matt was in the office, and the aroma filled the room.

"Mind if I help myself to some coffee, Marshal?" said Dent.

"Go ahead," said, Matt, picking up the stack of _Wanted_ posters. He found McCane's likeness near the bottom of the pile. Matt put the other posters on the desk. Coffee cup in hand, Dent moved over to look at the poster in the marshal's hand.

"I get the money even though the poster don't say he's wanted dead," said Dent. He'd hung his hat on a peg by the door. He had shiny brown hair tinted copper, combed back from a widow's peak.

Matt closed the door to the jail, and as he moved back to where Dent stood, the bounty hunter squared his shoulders, his pale eyes narrowing. Except for a chiseled jaw, Dent's lean face ran to fine points with a thin mouth and clean smooth skin conspicuous for its whiteness, as most men in the region had faces weathered tan to brown. About nine inches shorter than Matt, Dent had a slim, light-boned frame. Matt guessed Dent was thirty-five years old or a year or two younger.

Matt patted the stack of posters. "You see any more of these men in town, Dent, you tell me and let me arrest 'em," said the marshal. "You'll still get the reward money; I'll see to it."

"No," said Dent. He put his cup on the desk. "I'll bring 'em in myself, if I have to kill them to do it.

"You don't seem like a man who'd go easy on the job, Marshal, so I'm thinking you need help, or these dregs wouldn't have free run of the town to begin with. You don't even know they're here. Dodge is booming, and that means lawlessness unless you have enough deputies to keep order," Dent said. "And you haven't a one."

"You might've positioned yourself to take McCane's gun so he'd have no chance to draw," said Matt. "You're quick on the trigger, Dent, like most of your kind."

"And you're soft," said Dent. "The man was a cattle rustler."

Though the bounty hunter sounded calm, Matt thought Dent somewhat feared the marshal. "I don't like gunplay, Dent," Matt said. "You don't need to kill these men to get the reward money. And if you shoot a man in the back, I'll run you out of town if I have to rope you to your horse."

"I've never shot a man in the back, Marshal," said Dent. "And I never will." Matt handed Dent his gun.

 _K~~~~_

Although Leah Kelly was a quiet young woman, she preferred society to aloneness. When men weren't seeking her company at the Long Branch, she passed the time with Kitty, or moved along the bar close to Sam. Expecting neither talk or silence, Leah was not particular regarding her companion of the moment. She was a pretty girl whose presence didn't bother Kitty, and Sam liked having Leah nearby.

Leah stood next to Kitty at the end of the bar when Colin Dent walked through the batwings and paused, squinting as he scoped the saloon. "Look, Kitty," said Leah, her soft brown eyes alight. "There's a new one. He looks like a bird of prey."

"We get a lot of strangers at harvest time," said Kitty. "That one looks like a gunman."

Dent saw Kitty and Leah looking at him, and moved toward them. "Ladies," Dent said, lifting his hat.

"Hello," said Leah. Kitty nodded and wondered if she should dislike Dent.

"You have the glossiest hair I ever saw," Dent said to Leah, his gaze roaming over the dark-gold, loose curls framing her face.

"Thank you," said Leah.

"What's your name, honey?" said Dent.

"Leah Kelly."

"I'm Colin Dent. May I buy you ladies a drink?"

"None for me, thanks," said Kitty. "Leah might like a beer."

"I would," said Leah.

"Barkeep," said Dent. "Two beers."

"Another new one just walked in," said Leah. "He looks like a frightening sort."

Dent turned and stiffened at sight of the stocky hard-faced man approaching the bar. "That's Jep Russell," said Dent. "He's a hired gun. Gunnin' for me."

"Good heavens," said Leah. "How d'you know that."

"I'm a bounty hunter. No one's ever seen Russell kill a man," Dent said, "so he's not wanted. Too bad. Were his face on a poster, I'd just shoot 'im."

Dent gulped beer as Russell came up to the bar beside him. Russell thudded his palms on the polished wood and said _"Whiskey,"_ in a resonant voice with a hollow undertone.

"Russell," said Dent. "You'd meet me out in the street if you had the gizzard."

"I dunno what the deuce you're talkin' about," said Russell.

"You're a liar," said Dent. "You know who I am."

"Colin Dent," said Russell. "So what."

"You aim to ambush me," said Dent. "You're too much of a coward to fight me like a man."

Russell drained his whiskey glass and looked Dent in the face. Russell's eyes were small and round like shiny dark pebbles in a brown face with wide cheekbones and a square jaw. "I'm not gonna draw first and hang on account of you," said Russell. "And you never draw first, Dent. You called me a coward and a liar, so either get your fists up or shut your mouth."

He turned away from Dent and thumped his glass on the bar. _"Barkeep,"_ Russell said. _"Leave the bottle this time."_

Dent's lean face flushed, and he looked at Kitty and Leah. Kitty looked at the bar, and Leah gave him a sympathetic look. He touched his hand to Leah's hair and kissed her, and tipped his hat to Kitty. "Ma'am," Dent said. Kitty nodded.

Dent walked slowly out of the Long Branch and down Front Street. When he reached the marshal's office, the cattle rustler's body was gone, and there was no sign of his blood on the walkway. Chester sat outside the office again, watching the wagons and buggies, people riding horses and walking.

Chester straightened up in the chair when he saw Dent. Dent looked into Chester's eyes, and Chester looked warily at Dent. Dent moved to the spot where the rustler had fallen. The autumn wind and sun had dried the boards to their normal grayish brown shade, and the bullet hole made by the rustler's gun as he fell was packed with dirt.

Dent looked back at Chester, who watched him. "You wanna see Mr. Dillon again?" said Chester.

"Not just now," said Dent. "You fixed the walk up here?"

"I scrubbed the boards with lye and throwed down water to wash out the red," said Chester. "Then I dug the bullet out the hole and filled in dirt so as no one snags on it and takes a tumble."

"That so," said Dent. He put his hands in his pockets. "You shotgun backup for Marshal Dillon?"

"Betimes," said Chester.

"What's your name," said Dent.

"Chester Goode."

Dent nodded and resumed his walk down Front Street. Chester stared after him a moment, then slouched down in the chair.

Dent walked as far as Grimmick's livery, and sat on a hay bale to take a rest. Two men wearing bandannas approached the stables, and stopped at sight of Dent.

Dent stood up. Though he didn't recollect seeing the men's faces on a _Wanted_ poster, he felt in his gut that they were horse thieves. The men looked at each other, then turned and walked away.

Dent considered going for the marshal, but guessed the men hid out, waiting for him to leave so they could pull the bandannas over their faces, holdup the old timer in the stable and steal the horses, including Dent's mare. Even if the men had no price on their heads, the bounty hunter would try to stop the theives and save old Grimmick from harm.

Figuring the men watched him, Dent strolled toward the walkway. He turned into a passage between two shops, headed to the back end of the livery, and looked around the corner of the structure for the two men. They appeared a moment later, moving to the stable.

Dent's dove-gray mare was so fine and well cared for that Moss gave her special attention. With the midday hay feed, he served Chloe a warm meal mash with carrots and a bit of molasses. The other horses smelled the mash and nickered, and faced with a stable of stretched necks and quivering nostrils, Moss put a ladleful in each stall.

Moss had fed Chloe an apple, and was currying her as she crunched it, when he heard the boot steps. "Be with you directly," he called out.

Moss later told the marshal that if not for horse thieves showing up every month or so and shocking him most to death, he could work the livery if he lived to one hundred. "It comes natural since I was knee-high," said Moss, "but if them thievin' buggers keep visitin', Matt, I might not last 'til Christmas, and not on account of gunshot. My heart gave a misery jump and near stopped tickin' when I saw 'em."

The two men stood in the stable with drawn guns and bandannas covering their faces. "Stay right there, old timer," said one. "Don't do nothin' dumb like reachin' for a shotgun. We'll take your best horseflesh and be on our way. You got some fine ones here."

Dent appeared in the doorway, his gun aimed. _"Hold it,"_ he said, and clicked the hammer. The two men went motionless. "Take their guns, Moss, if you would," said Dent. "You gents try anything, there'll be two fresh corpses on Boot Hill."

Moss took their guns. "They were gonna steal our best horses," said Moss. "They said so." He pulled down the bandannas, uncovering their faces.

"Turn around," said Dent. The men turned, and Dent stepped closer, peering at their faces in the shadowy stable. "They're not on the posters," said Dent. "I can't collect a reward on their hides."

"They were fixin' to do it," said Moss. "They said so."

"We ain't done it, though," said one of the men.

"You held up Mr. Grimmick, and I heard every word you said from outside the doors. I'll testify to it," said Dent. "Get moving. You're goin' to jail."

Chester still sat outside the marshal's office, sleeping this time when Dent arrived with the two men at gunpoint.

 _"Chester,"_ said Dent. Chester pushed up his hat, saw Dent and the men, and jumped up. "These two were about to steal horses from Grimmick's livery," said Dent.

"Gracious," said Chester. "Did they . . . did they hurt Moss?"

"No," said Dent. "He's alright."

"Mr. Dillon's bustin' up a brawl down to the Lady Gay," said Chester. "Two drover outfits on the drunk got to fightin'. They's not many more room in the jail. Five in one cell, four in t'other un."

Dent regarded Chester intently while keeping a keen eye fixed and his wiry frame tensed for any sign of movement from the horse thieves. The bounty hunter's pale-blue hawkish stare made Chester uncomfortable, and he fumbled at his hat, resisting the urge to look down at his boots.

Chester clearly was not the sort to take a lead; he seemed accustomed to following orders. "How about we crowd these two in with the others," said Dent. "Marshal Dillon can put the overflow under guard in a cabin somewhere if need be." Chester nodded without hesitating and opened the door.

Two men in the far cell wrestled on the floor, swinging at each other's heads while the other three prisoners in the cell stood out of the way and watched. "Shall we break that up?" said Dent.

"Mr. Dillon's not here," said Chester. "I'll fetch Doc if they hurt theirselves." He locked the two horse thieves in the near cell. "You want I should check the circulars for their faces?" he said.

"They're not wanted," said Dent. "I've got 'em all to remembrance. I couldn't chance those two hurting the old man and getting away with the horses, especially since my Chloe is at the livery. I'm right fond of that mare. You'll tell the marshal how I helped out here, Chester?" Chester nodded, his brows furrowed and his brown eyes guarded as he looked at Dent.

When he traveled to any town where the railroad and stage ran west of the Missouri, Dent marveled how often outlaws crossed his path. He hardly had to search. The word spread from Oklahoma Territory through Kansas, Texas and Colorado that a lot of lawbreakers mingled with the cattle drives, hunters selling pelts and game, farmers their crops and peddlers their wares in Dodge City, particularly now at harvest time.

So when the bounty hunter walked from the marshal's office to Jonas' store to buy bullets and look for new shirts and vests, Dent wasn't surprised to see the highwayman called Largo trying on a hat in front of the glass. Largo had a seven hundred dollar reward on his head.

Jonas stood behind the counter, and as he opened his mouth to greet Dent, the bounty hunter raised his hand with his palm facing the storekeeper, put a finger to his lips and jabbed the forefinger of his other hand at Largo, mouthing "stagecoach robber."

Largo drew his gun and turned to face Dent in one swift movement. Knowing Largo had the drop on him, Dent stopped still, holding his arm out from his holster.

"Strange thing with mirrors," Largo said conversationally. "A narrow glass shows more than anyone would think. I saw you come in the door and play your little trick behind my back." Largo spoke with slow deliberation, his eyes and round face blank as a festival mask.

Dent's heart thudded painfully in his chest and vibrated in his throat. He grew hot all over and sweated, his breath coming quick.

"You're scared," said Largo. "It ain't so bad as that. It ain't the final act.

"You, storekeeper," said Largo. "Get his gun and hand it to me, and don't try nothin' brave."

Jonas hurried to Dent, pulled his gun from the holster, and handed it butt first to Largo, who stuck it in his belt. "Get back behind the counter," Largo said to Jonas.

"You a lawman?" Largo said to Dent.

"I'm a bounty hunter."

"What's your name," said Largo.

"Colin Dent."

Largo moved fast. He stepped closer to Dent, raised the gun and hit the bounty hunter's face, opeining a gash on his right cheekbone. Jonas cringed behind the counter. As Dent reeled from the blow, Largo raised the gun again and cut another gash in Dent's left temple. Dent staggered and fell to his knees, and Jonas winced again.

"I gotta leave town now on account of you, Dent," said Largo. He holstered his gun and turned toward the door.

Hot blood streaming down both sides of his face, Dent leaned over from the waist, slid his slim fingers in a large pocket inside his suit jacket, and drew out a derringer as Largo turned the knob to leave Jonas' store. _"Hold it, Largo,"_ Dent gasped. On his knees on the floor, he pulled the trigger as Largo drew his gun and wheeled around.

The bullet drove a neat hole through Largo's forehead, and blood spurted through the hole. The slug exited through the back of Largo's head, and Dent heard the bullet ping on the floor as Largo fell. Dent dropped the derringer, and went from his knees to his backside, sitting on the floor.

"I . . . I'll get some wet rags for those cuts," said Jonas.

Dent wiped blood from his face and pressed the rags against the gashes. "Where's the doctor's place," he said.

"To your right on this street and up the stairs," said Jonas. "Doc Adams."

"Will you tell the marshal what happened," said Dent. "One name, Largo, wanted for stage robberies. Seven hundred dollar reward."

"Surely," said Jonas, helping Dent to stand. "Largo. Seven hundred dollars."

Jonas walked with Dent as far as the marshal's office. "Will you make it to Doc's?" said Jonas. "I can walk with you, then come back and tell the marshal."

"I'll make it," said Dent. "You go in and let Marshal Dillon know." Jonas went in the office and closed the door.

Dent's head throbbed, his vision blurred around the edges, and his legs felt weak. As he passed the Long Branch, still holding the rags against his head, the walkway seemed suddenly to slant at a sharp angle.

Inside the Long Branch, Leah Kelly had changed from her costume into a woolen dress and a hat. She and Kitty were heading to Grimmick's livery for two horses and a wagon to ride to a farm Kitty patronized for beef and cheese, eggs and butter and freshly baked bread to lay out a spread at the saloon. Kitty would visit with the farmer's wife while she boiled the eggs and put dough loaves in the oven, and her husband went to the meat shed to cut beef slices.

Kitty and Leah were late leaving. Kitty's pendant watch pointed to four o'clock, but the farm was just a mile outside Dodge, and the farmer's wife worked fast. Kitty and Leah would return by twilight, in time to serve the spread to the night crowd.

They moved through the batwings onto the walk as Dent staggered like a drunken man in front of the Long Branch, clutching bloodied rags to his head, then tripped over his boots and fell off the walk in the dirt, his hat bouncing off as he hit the ground.

"It's that bounty hunter, Kitty," said Leah. "Colin Dent. The one who kissed me."

"Looks like a bullet grazed his head," said Kitty.

"No," Dent said weakly from the ground. "I was pistol-whipped."

"You wanna help him, don't you," Kitty said to Leah.

"Oh, Kitty," said Leah. "I have to."

"Well . . . alright," said Kitty. "I'll get Sam to help him up to Doc's. You go along with Dent if you want to, Leah. I'll manage on my own."

"You're sure?" said Leah.

"Of course. I've done it enough by myself," said Kitty. "Take the night off, Leah."

Kitty pushed back through the batwings, and Leah bent down beside Dent. She helped him sit up. "Sam's coming," said Leah. "He'll help you."

"I need to kiss you again," said Dent. "But the blood from the cuts dripped on my lips."

"In that case, we'll wait for Doc to clean you up," said Leah, smiling a little.

Kitty came out of the saloon with Sam behind her. "I'm leaving for the Wilkins farm, Sam," said Kitty. "I'll be back soon."

"Yes, Miss Kitty," said Sam. He held out his hand to Leah, helped her stand up, then put his arms around Dent and lifted him to his feet.

The movement made Dent's head buzz, and darkness clouded his eyes. He felt his head flop against Sam's shoulder, then Sam dragged Dent along the walk with an arm clamped around his ribs.

Leah hurried ahead of them, hiked up her wool skirt and petticoat, ran nimbly up Doc's staircase and opened the door to his office, where Doc sat reading at his desk. "Hello, Leah," Doc said, rising from his chair.

"Doc," said Leah. "There's a bounty hunter been pistol-whipped. Sam's helping him up the stairs."

Along with his blood-stained hat, Dent had left the rags Jonas gave him in the street, and blood trickled from the gashes on his face and head. Half carrying the bounty hunter, Sam dragged him to Doc's table, lifted Dent under the arms, sat him on the table, and headed out of Doc's office. "Doc," said Sam as he left.

"Sam," said Doc.

"I'm staying to help you tend him, Doc," said Leah.

"Alright, Leah," said Doc. "Fill a basin with water and bring me some cloths, a bottle of alcohol, niter, and a box in the medicine cabinet there with needles and catgut." Leah gathered the implements as Doc spoke. "Also get a cup of water and two morphine packets," said Doc. "A bottle of tonic, and that roll of bandages in the cabinet."

Dent sat with his chin resting on his chest. Doc lifted Dent's chin and looked at his grayish pallor. "You're anemic, too," Doc said. "The tonic's good for that. Can you see alright?" He pried Dent's lids up and looked into the bounty hunter's eyes.

"I can now," said Dent. "It got fuzzy after he hit me."

"What's your name," said Doc, stirring the morphine and a spoonful of tonic in the cup.

"Colin Dent."

"Drink that down, Colin," said Doc, "and I'll sew up those cuts." Dent drank the mixture, then Doc helped him lie down. He was asleep by the time Doc finished tending him, and wound a bandage around his head and under his eye.

Doc and Leah were cleaning up when Matt walked in. "Doc," said Matt. "Hello, Leah." Matt touched his hat brim.

"Matt," said Doc.

"How is he, Doc," said the marshal.

"He'll mend," said Doc. "He'll sleep for another two hours or so. Should be fine when he wakes up. I'll give 'im headache powders and a bottle of tonic, and send him on his way. Unless you're takin' 'im to jail," Doc said.

"No," said Matt. "I thought I might have to in time, or run 'im out of town, but I don't think I will. I don't like his methods, but he did stop two horse thieves who might've hurt Moss and brought 'em to jail, although there was no reward in it.

"What I don't like is he's so eager for the reward money, all he thinks about is not letting them escape," said Matt. "He doesn't slow down to figure a way where he might not have to shoot, even if that means they walk around free awhile."

Doc looked at Dent on the table, and at Leah, who had pulled a chair close to the table and watched Dent as he slept. Matt followed Doc's gaze, and for a moment they watched Leah and Dent.

"Well, maybe there're too many of 'em walking around free," Doc said. "Maybe there're so many, you've lost track of who and where they all are, Matt. What we do know is they're here in Dodge, and you need help cleaning this town up."

Dent woke at sundown and walked with Leah to Dodge House, where he put away the headache powders and tonic in his room, put on a hat, dined at Delmonico's with Leah, and walked with her to the Long Branch, where they sat at a corner table, beer mugs in front of them. Leah seemed content to look at Dent, hold his hand and let him kiss her. Her quietness didn't bother him. He thought Leah enchantingly pretty and liked her company. Dent neither expected or needed anything more from a woman.

When she kissed him goodnight and retired to her room upstairs at the Long Branch, Dent left the saloon and headed for Dodge House. The saloons were all still open, a cacophony of tinny music from the player pianos filling the night, but the stores and restaurants had closed, their windows dark, and the busyness of the day ceased until sunup.

When a hired gun like Jep Russell ambushed a man in a town, he potshot his target under cover of night. Dent had no doubt he was Russell's target, though he didn't know which of the men who wanted him dead had hired the gunman to kill him. He hardly thought it mattered, as he couldn't hunt them all down. There were too many. Dent moved carefully, scrutinizing every man he saw on the way, his senses alert so his skin prickled.

Walking his rounds, Matt heard stealthy boot steps in a passage between two buildings facing Front Street. The marshal moved silently to the corridor and peered into the darkness, just as a stocky figure at the end of the passage shot at someone on Front Street.

Matt drew his gun. _"Hold it,"_ he said. _"Don't move,"_ said the marshal. The burly man turned, his gun leveled. Matt shot the man, and he pitched forward on his face. The marshal moved into the passage, rolled the man on his back, and probed his throat for a pulse. The man was dead.

Matt stepped over the corpse onto the Front Street walk. Dent stood some paces away, his hand pressed to the left side of his chest. His pale face looked stunned in the light from the streetlamp.

"He shot me here, Marshal," said Dent, his voice tremulous. "The bullet's in there. Did you kill 'im?"

"He's dead," said Matt.

"I know it's Jep Russell," said Dent. "A hired gunman. But I have to make sure."

The bounty hunter moved unsteadily to the passage where the dead man lay. Matt saw the dark stain soaking Dent's jacket as he passed the marshal. "It's him," said Dent. "Too dark to see his face clear, but I can tell by the body."

His sharp features tensed in pain, Dent shuffled out of the passage and looked up at Matt. "I can't tell you who paid him to shoot me, Marshal," said the bounty hunter. "So many men want me dead, I won't bother. I s'pose you need to send for the undertaker's wagon to pick up the corpse. I'll get to Doc's alright."

His pity tempered by vexation, Matt watched the bounty hunter stumble away. Like any gunman, Dent attracted trouble like a cadaver draws flies. Mildly tempted to turn his back and head for the undertaker's, Matt knew his sense of duty wouldn't allow it. He habitually helped men like the dead hired gun in the passageway—men who made Dent look saintly. Like patrolling Dodge at night and riding prisoners to the State Penitentiary, once Matt forced himself to start helping, he worked without much thinking on it.

With his long measured strides, the marshal overtook Dent. His jacket and vest, and the hand against his chest drenched in blood, the bounty hunter stopped walking, looked with glassy unfocused eyes at Matt, and collapsed. Matt caught Dent before he hit the boards and carried him to Doc's.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The men in the jail cells shoved one another and wrestled for position. Like a coyote pack, the bigger prisoners braced themselves at the bars, and pushed the smaller ones back against the wall. Five men crowded the near cell, while six packed the back cell, and they all smelled the buckwheat cakes and sausages in the two big covered baskets from Delmonico's.

Chester made a trip to pick up eleven plates and utensil sets, and another trip for the food baskets. He'd carry everything back to Delmonico's after the prisoners ate, and repeat the two trips and the return trip at dinnertime.

The men would have jerky and scrapple for lunch. The jerky came from the General Store, and Matt paid from the marshal's till twenty cents per day to Ma Smalley to mix and fry the scrapple.

Chester saw the smaller men might not get breakfast if he simply put the food baskets with the plates and utensils on the floor inside the cells while he filled the coffee cups. He'd have to serve up the plates, and feared the men would rush him or try to bust jail while he handed in the food.

Matt sat at the desk writing reports, which were backed up, and Chester didn't want to bother him for help. If the marshal served the food, he would keep the prisoners in order. He'd often assisted at mealtimes without being asked. Chester figured Mr. Dillon concentrated so hard on his writing, he didn't know help was needed.

Chester moved to the desk. "Um . . . Mr. Dillon?" he said.

"Mm?" Matt kept writing.

"They's . . . too many." Chester gestured with his thumb at the jail.

Accustomed to his partner's hesitancy and the jumbled way he talked at times, Matt waited for Chester to get his words out while the marshal focused on his report about Colin Dent killing the cattle rustler.

"To serve up all to once. Their breakfast," said Chester. "I don't like to interrupt your report writin'. I'd get it done all myself if I could."

Puzzled, Matt looked up at his friend. Chester blushed, and he gestured at the jail again. "Mr. Dillon, I _would,_ but I _cain't_. They's jest too many of 'em," said Chester.

Matt's mouth opened slightly in understanding. Doc walked in as the marshal pushed back his chair and rose.

 _"Hey, come on, Chester!"_ came a yell from the jail. _"Them vittles are gettin' cold."_

 _"Yeah,"_ another voice yelled. _"Nothin' worse'n cold buckwheats!"_

Chester stomped to the jail doorway. "You hush up and be patient," he scolded. "Or you won't get none at all." The men shook the bars and shouted . _"You hush up,"_ said Chester.

"Looks like I came at the wrong time," said Doc.

"That's alright, Doc," said Matt. "Pour yourself some coffee and set while we feed the men here. We've got three pots fresh made."

Matt moved to the jail and towered in the doorway. "You men quiet down," he said. "Chester will serve your plates and hand them in, and your coffee. Sit on the bunk or floor, or stand against the wall and stay in one place. Move away from the bars."

The men obeyed. Matt unlocked the door to the near cell, and Chester quickly put three buckwheats and two sausages on each plate. He added a butter pat and a dollop from the molasses jug while the men raptly watched, and handed out the plates as Matt stood by. Doc looked on a moment, then filled cups with coffee and handed them to Matt, who passed the cups to the prisoners.

"Have some, Doc?" said Chester. "There's a heap left."

"I think I will," said Doc.

Chester served up three more plates while Doc poured three cups of coffee, then Chester closed the door to the jail, and they sat at the table and ate.

"How's Dent doin'?" said Matt.

"He's mending tolerable," Doc said. "He says he needs to see you, Matt. Says it's urgent."

"Flat on his back with a bullet hole in his chest and cut up from a pistol whippin', and he still borrows trouble," said Matt. "He say what it's about, Doc?"

"He said the brother of that rustler he killed yesterday is in town, mixing with the drovers at the pens so he can steal cattle," said Doc. "Dent said the brother's name is Tom McCane, and he'll be after Dent to kill 'im," said Doc.

"Gracious," said Chester. "Mr. Dillon, that brother could go up to Doc's a gunnin' for Dent and shoot Doc, too."

"He won't get me or Dent," said Doc. "I'm keepin' my shotgun loaded at hand in the office, and I asked a friend of mine to guard Dent while I came here to give you the news, Matt.

"I'd have to pay my friend if I ask him to guard Dent every time I'm out, though," said Doc, "and I can't afford to. You could hire him to do it, Matt."

"Tell your friend he's hired, Doc," said the marshal, rising from the table. "I'll head to the corrals and look for Tom McCane."

"One more thing, Matt," said Doc. "He don't want you to arrest McCane. He says there's five hundred dollars on McCane's head, and Dent wants to catch 'im.

"He got out of bed to dress and look for McCane this morning," Doc went on. "I found Dent passed out beside the bed. The fall made his bullet wound bleed bad, and he bumped his head on the floor and opened the gash where that stage robber he killed at Jonas' store hit 'im with the gun."

"Dent hexed hisself on account of bein' a bounty hunter," said Chester.

"There's no such thing, Chester," said Matt, sifting through the stack of _Wanted_ posters. "The man's just a fool."

"Well," said Doc. "I've no right to stop him if he leaves my office, and my friend guarding him won't stop 'im, either. If he falls down the stairs and breaks his neck, it's not my fault."

Matt folded the poster with Tom McCane's name and put the paper in his shirt pocket. "Before I track down McCane, I'll try and talk sense into Dent's head," said Matt. "He'll likely get himself killed if he hunts McCane in his condition. You comin', Doc?"

Clad in brown muslin, her silky gold waves combed back and twisted in a bun and her pretty young face clean of paint and powder, Leah Kelly was in Doc's office when he arrived with the marshal. Leah held a cup of water, and Matt noticed she'd scraped the red off her fingernails and cut them short.

"Hello, Leah," said Doc.

"Good morning, Doc. Marshal," said Leah. "I was just bringing Colin some water."

"Leah," said Matt. "Go ahead and give him the water, then you'll have to leave. The brother of a cattle rustler he killed may be after him. You could be in danger if you stay here."

Leah frowned up at the marshal. Without her Long Branch outfit and cosmetics, she looked younger yet somehow more mature than her twenty-one years. She had a settled yet vital demeanor which Matt hadn't seen in her before.

"He ask you to marry him, did he?" said Doc.

"Yes. We're marrying soon as he's mended," said Leah. "Colin told me to quit the Long Branch and he'd take care of me, so I went and let Kitty know, then came back up here to nurse him."

"All this happened while I was out havin' breakfast," said Doc.

"So you see, Marshal, I have a right to be here with Colin," said Leah. "What if I was too sick to move? I'd have to stay here so Doc could treat me."

"You're not sick," Matt said patiently. "Dent's waiting for his water. As soon as he drinks it, I want you to leave Doc's office for your own safety."

Leah sighed and slumped a bit, then straightened up. "Well, then, I'll pass the time with Kitty until you kill that cattle rustler's brother, Marshal," she said.

"I'll only kill him if I have to, Leah," said Matt. She lifted her chin and carried the cup of water to Dent in the bedroom.

"I'm sayin' goodbye for a spell, Doc," the guard said. "I got a wire from Fort Dodge, and they want me for a job."

"Good luck," said Doc, shaking hands, and the guard was out the door.

As they heard him running down the stairs, Matt slapped his hat against his palm.

"I can't spare Chester," said the marshal, "but I'll have to send him up here anyway to guard Dent until I can find someone else to do it."

"My gun is on the table by the bed where I can reach it," Dent quavered from the other room. Matt and Doc glanced at each other, then moved to the bedroom, where Leah sat on the bed holding Dent's hand.

"Leah," said Matt. Leah kissed Dent, then rose from the bed and left Doc's office.

"I'm gonna try again tomorrow morning to get out of this bed and hunt Tom McCane down, Marshal," said Dent. "And I don't need a guard. If McCane shows up here, I'll shoot 'im. There's a five hundred dollar reward on his head; let me do it, Marshal."

"Dent, if you set one foot out of that bed except to use the chamber pot, I'll tie you down," said Matt. "I'm sending Chester up here to guard you. Don't give him any trouble. I'll take a look for McCane by the cattle pens before I find another guard to relieve Chester."

Dent didn't respond to Matt. Gazing past the marshal and Doc, the bounty hunter's tight thin mouth curved up in the shade of a smile. Matt and Doc turned to follow Dent's gaze. Five-year-old Mamie Whittier stood breathing hard in the doorway, her cheeks glowing pink.

"Hello, Mamie," said Doc. "Someone need help?"

Little Mamie vigorously nodded, her long braids flapping. "Mama fell on the floor at our place," she said, "but she's not fainted away. She coughs and coughs and lies there, and I couldn't help her up to bed. I'm not strong enough. I run all the way here, Doc."

"I can't wait for Chester to get here," said Doc. He picked the child up and headed for the door. "Miriam might have pneumonia. Hand me my bag, will you, Matt?"

They heard boots treading the stairs, and a boy panting under the weight of a big wooden box appeared at the door as Doc opened it. "Your medicinals come on the stage, Doc," said young Virgil.

"Oh, uh, thank you," said Doc. "Just set the box by the cabinet, son."

"I need you to run an errand, Virgil," said Matt.

"Sure, Marshal."

"Chester should be at the marshal's office," said Matt. "Go tell him he's to come to Doc's directly. Tell him to bring a shotgun." Matt handed the boy a nickel.

"Yes, sir," said Virgil, and ran out.

"Anyone still there?" Dent's weak voice drifted wraithlike through Doc's suddenly quiet rooms. Matt moved to the bedroom and looked in.

"It's brooding dark, Marshal," said Dent. His gaunt face was a cadaverous gray hue. "The endgame," said the bounty hunter, his breathing shallow. "I might die soon, like you said."

Matt stepped closer to the bed. "I didn't say that, Dent," said the marshal. "Doc says you'll mend."

"Doc's hands aren't covered in blood like mine," said Dent. "Doc can't understand. I dreamt it. I dreamt you said I'd die."

"Easy," said Matt. "Doc's office just got too busy awhile."

Dent moved restlessly and grimaced in pain. "Doc had no time to give me morphine before he went to help the little girl's mother," he said. "He gives me a packet every four hours. It's time." Matt found the morphine in Doc's cabinet, mixed a packet in water, and held Dent's head while he drank.

"Will you wait here until Chester comes, Marshal?" said Dent.

"I'll wait," said Matt.

 _C~~~~_

Chester sat at Doc's desk, a cup of coffee on the desktop and the shotgun across his lap. He leafed through a thick book entitled The Anatomy of Melancholy, pausing at almost every sentence to look up words in Doc's dictionary.

"Never seen so many highfalutin words in all ma born days," Chester muttered. "Jest don't have a book-learned head like Doc. Makes me plumb tired." So far as Chester could calculate, melancholy was the mopes he felt when Miss Kitty journeyed away from town, or when Mr. Dillon ordered him to fill the day with the chores Chester called women's work, on account of him letting things go. He felt the mopes settling like a rain cloud round his head, and was wondering if the book had stricken him when the door to Doc's office opened.

Chester looked up and blanched, his head jerking back and his eyes widening. As the man in the doorway pointed a gun at Chester, he strangely and with no reproach thought the marshal must have known. He'd studied the poster before folding it and putting it in his pocket. Mr. Dillon had to know, yet he didn't think to tell Chester.

"Make one tiny move I don't say to and I'll shoot you in the face," said Tom McCane. "Put that shotgun on the floor slow like." Chester did, and McCane bared his teeth in a grin. "Surprise," he said. "Shocking, ain't it? I'm a lookalike for brother Jim. Bet you thought you were seein' a haint. Get your hands up." Chester raised his hands.

He'd closed the door to the bedroom so as not to disturb Dent, who was sleeping while Matt sat by the bedside when Chester came in. McCane moved to the closed door, his eyes fixed on Chester.

As McCane's eyes shifted to the door, the gun in his hand lowering a notch, Chester grabbed a marble paperweight from Doc's desk and hurled it with all his strength at McCane's head. The weight hit with a meaty thud, and McCane staggered. Chester rushed him and took hold of his hand holding the gun, yanking his hand toward the ceiling.

The two men grappled for the gun, and McCane swung his boot hard into the back of Chester's left knee. His left leg buckled, and unable to keep his footing on the right lame leg, Chester fell on his back, the breath knocked out of him.

McCane raised the gun, aimed it at Chester, and clicked the hammer. McCane bared his teeth in a grin again as Chester watched him from the floor.

Chester looked at the black hole at the end of the gun barrel. He couldn't breathe, and sadness consumed him, wringing his heart in a vise. The marshal trusted him to protect Dent, and Chester had failed Mr. Dillon. Chester was sure he would die in shame with his face blown apart.

The door to the bedroom banged against the wall, and McCane jumped and turned. Dent shot McCane. He fell hard on his back, as Chester had done less than a minute before, except Dent's bullet had ripped into McCane's chest and heart and through his back. Tom McCane was dead.

 _M~~~~_

"Whereabouts in California are you folks headed?" said Chester. He stood with Matt, Doc and Kitty by four slate-gray Percheron horses hitched to a covered wagon.

"Stockton," said Dent. "By way of the California Trail."

"You got a fine rig there," said Doc. "The wagon looks new."

"It is," said Dent. "Just come in from Topeka."

Chester laid his hand on the wheel rim, then stroked one of the horses. "The San Joaquin River runs by Stockton," he said. "Wisht I was in Stockton fishin' in the San Joaquin 'stead of you and me ridin' to the Ar _kan_ sas to fish, Mr. Dillon."

"You'll have to make that trip on your own, Chester," said Matt. "I'm goin' fishin' at the Ar _kan_ sas."

"Oh," said Chester, "Goodness, I'm all set to ride out with you. Twasn't sayin' I didn't wanna go on _our_ fishin' trip, Mr. Dillon. For heaven sakes."

"I've never been to California," said Dent. "The wanted men there don't know about me, so no one will come gunnin' for me. And there aren't many bounty hunters in the region from what I heard tell. Should be ground for the taking."

Wearing sand-toned calico and a sunbonnet, Leah stood at Dent's side. Dent wore the outfit of a ranch hand instead of his usual suit and vest. His face had filled from gaunt to lean, and darkened from milk-white to a light cream shade.

Leah embraced Kitty, and they touched cheeks. "I'll look you up if we ever come back here, Kitty," said Leah. "If you're still here, that is. And if _I_ come back, anyway. Colin may not live very long before an outlaw kills him."

"Thank you very much, honey," said Dent.

"It's true," said Leah. "I won't say I'll write, Kitty."

"That's a relief," said Kitty, smiling. "Neither will I. Makes it easier on us both."

"Don't worry 'bout your mare," Chester said to Dent. "Moss'll take good care of her."

Dent nodded. "I'll miss Chloe," he said. He helped Leah onto the wagon seat, and climbed up beside her.

Matt held up his hand to Dent, and they shook. The marshal's dislike of the bounty hunter had faded but not disappeared. Although Dent had saved Chester's life, if not for Dent, Chester's life wouldn't have needed saving.

As he later told Matt, Doc came to say goodbye to Dent and Leah only to see of a surety that the bounty hunter was leaving Dodge. Matt knew Kitty cared nothing for Dent, and was there for Leah, while Chester seemed genuinely grateful to Dent. Dent chirruped to the horses, and he and Leah didn't look back or wave. A large burnt-blackened tumbleweed rolled behind the wagon, lodging in the spokes of a rear wheel.

 _"Marshal."_ The man Matt deputized while he and Chester were to go fishing for a week strode toward them brimming with vigor, reminding Matt how tired he was. Dent had crumpled in a swoon after killing Tom McCane, and with the bounty hunter confined to bed in a nearly paralytic state at Doc's, Matt worked harder than he ever had to restore order in Dodge before Dent mended enough to interfere again.

Though never harsh with Chester, the marshal prodded his friend to work to the limits of his strength. When Chester nodded off without feeding dinner to the jailed men, forgot to walk Buck to Grimmick's when Matt returned from escorting men to prison, grew too flustered to follow Matt's orders or stumbled over words so the marshal couldn't understand his partner, Matt eased off, reminding himself that Chester's strength tended to wear down fast.

Matt rounded up cattle rustlers, horse thieves, bank robbers and two hired gunmen. One robber drew his gun on the marshal, so Matt shot him and he died in the street; and a gunman called Matt out. The gunman died from Matt's bullet before hitting the dirt.

The marshal arrested the other outlaws with no shots fired, though a drunken drover who shot a cowboy in the arm over cards lunged for Matt's throat when he pulled the drover's gun from the holster. Matt pried the man's hands off the marshal's neck, pulled the drover's arms behind his back, and strong-armed him to jail. When Dent recovered, the prisoners had stood trial and gone to the penitentiary, the hired gunman still living was hanged in Hays, the Dodge jail was empty and the streets orderly.

Matt lost weight and some hardiness, and Chester had a cough. Doc said a rest in the crisp autumn air and the sun would strengthen the marshal, and clear Chester's lungs, as the season was dry that year. Doc suggested a fishing trip, and gave Matt and Chester a bottle of tonic to take with them.

"Your horses are outside the marshal's office," said the deputy, "with your bedrolls and canteens, and a shotgun. I got everything ready to go."

"Thanks, Kent," Matt said.

"Sure." Kent hurried back toward the marshal's office.

"I'm off to see how little Mamie's ma is recuperating from the pneumonia," said Doc. "Matt. Chester. See you in a week, happy and healthy. Don't forget to take your tonic," Doc said.

"Doc," said Matt and Chester.

"I'll walk you far as the Long Branch, Kitty," said Doc.

"Bye, Matt. Chester," Kitty said, forcing a smile and brightness into her voice. When the marshal was out of town, Chester kept Kitty company so she didn't miss Matt too much, and when Chester was away, Matt passed the time with Kitty so she barely missed Chester. Now both were leaving for a week, and Kitty was already lonely.

"Miss Kitty," said Chester, lifting his hat.

"You and Doc can get to know each other now that Chester and I'll be out of your hair a few days, Kitty," Matt joked. Kitty realized he knew how she felt, which made her feel better.

"But Doc and Miss Kitty already knowed each other a long time," Chester said in confusion.

"Well, there's room for a closer acquaintance, isn't there, Doc," said Kitty.

"With you, Kitty, always," said Doc. "With Matt and Chester, I don't think I could stand it."

"I'll miss you, too, Doc," said Chester, as Doc moved off with Kitty.

Matt and Chester headed for the marshal's office, where the deputy had tied their horses at the rail. "Makes my mind easy Dent left town, howsoever obliged he saved my life," said Chester. If he understood that Dent bore blame for endangering Chester's life to begin with, maybe he'd forgotten, Matt figured, or merely didn't hold it against the bounty hunter.

"I wanted Dent gone, too, Chester," said the marshal.

"Cain't recollect when last you and me went fishin'," said Chester.

"It's been a spell," said Matt.

They untied their horses and mounted. "Ceptin' in winter, when I'd pop a big bowl of corn eatin' with butter 'n salt an' drink cider, settin' the day long by a stove in a nice little cabin somewheres close to town," Chester chatted as they rode out of Dodge, "I'd like to do nothin' but go fishin', rest of my life."

"Maybe someday you can," Matt said.

"I hope so," said Chester.


End file.
